


Hounds & Hollyhocks

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Aliens, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, pc andy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10032767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: A night on the streets hunting Weevils. Sounds like any other evening for our dashing Captain and his favorite factotum/new agent, right? Yet something otherworldly happens after the twosome stop into a gay club for a quick ale to wet their whistles.A spark of insecurity, an embarrassing run-in with an old friend, and an unexpected discovery in the sewers below Cardiff toss Jack, Ianto, and PC Andy into a dream life that they may never wish to escape. Jack will narrate the entire story for us this time, leaping into his first solo tale with his usual wit, flair for fine coats, and knack for heroism…or I hope he can prove himself the hero yet again!I’ll be posting new chapters on Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays.This story – as all of mine do - takes place mainly before CoE although you may pick up some nods to things that occurred in the first three episodes of “Children of Earth”. There might be some small liberties taken from time to time with references to the show and its timelines





	1. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter One - The Master Key

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter One**

**The Master Key**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

I slipped around the corner, stepping out of an alley, the thumping music of a nightclub nearby lifting the boredom and frustration of a night spent out hunting and not seeing anything. I recognized the song. It was an older dance number from Cher. A couple of young men jogged past, dressed for a night on the town and holding hands. I quickly put my Webley back into its holster and snapped it shut.

“Any luck, Jack? I’m a couple blocks over and all I’ve seen are two cats having sex and a drunk who asked if I were that bloke on ‘Hinterland’,” Ianto asked, filling my ear with those lovely Welsh vowels.

I eyed the line outside the club. There was not a female to be seen seeking to gain entry. “I’d say our luck depends on your point of view.” A strapping blond fellow sauntered past, stopped dead, turned, and gave me a scorching onceover while wetting his lips.

“Love the coat. Want to slip it off and show me what’s underneath, flyboy?” he propositioned. A year ago, I would have leaped on the tempting offer. Now…well, now I had someone else getting under my coat on a regular/almost daily basis.

“Not tonight,” I told him. He pouted then bounced off in search of another man.

“Jack? Did someone just hit on you?” Ianto enquired.

“I’m standing outside a gay night club called ‘Pantomime’ and the joint is jumping. Want to meet me for a beer before we move the hunt to the university area?”

“Oh, well, um, a gay club. Yes, of course. I love gay clubs.”

“You’ve never been to a gay club in your life, have you?”

A long pause followed. I grinned to myself. “Well, if you mean have I ever actually been _inside_ a gay club then no, I haven’t.”

“Meet me on Greyfriars Road. You can’t miss it. Just look for about forty hot men standing in a line.”

“Right, yes. I’ll be there shortly.”

I tapped my earpiece then removed it and shoved it into my pocket. I gave the empty alley I had just exited a glance. I’d have to stash my gun somewhere. We’d never get into a packed club with firearms. Ianto rounded the corner. He was dressed for hunting in jeans, a soft blue polo shirt, and a lightweight jacket. He looked a great deal as he did the first time I had met him.

“Wow, there are a lot of men over there,” he said as he walked up to me.

“Yes, yes there are. I want your gun.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

My eyebrow climbed up my brow as I held out my hand. “Generally, it would be but I really do want your gun. We can’t go into a public place with weapons.”

“Right, of course.” He reached behind his back and pulled out his well-maintained M1911. I took the firearm and walked down the alley. Ianto followed and then waited patiently as I unbuckled my holster and shoved his gun and mine into a pile of old, wet boxes behind a print shop.

“Shall we?” I motioned to the line across the street. He nodded. “You look like you’re heading to the oral surgeon for an extraction.” I reached over to rub at the knot forming between his shoulder blades.

“I’m not feeling totally in control to be honest,” he confessed as we stepped up behind a pack of rowdy young men. “This is more Chadwick’s scene than mine. I rather prefer a smaller, more intimate pub.”

“You’ll be fine. We’ll just enjoy the scenery while we have a beer. Then we’ll go get our guns and see what we can jump up over by the campus. Okay?”

He blew out a breath then inclined his head. “At least the queue is moving at a good clip.”

He was right about that. The long line disappeared quickly. A short stop to show ID at the door and my coffee boy and I were in like Flynn. Ianto let me lead the way. I had to stop for just a minute after reaching the dance floor and simply enjoy the sight. There were sweaty, gyrating male bodies packed in the small club like anchovies in a can. The smell of man and sex filled the air. Talk about a smorgasbord.

“It’s quite like I imagined,” Ianto shouted over the music. Strobe lights and green lasers rolled over the undulating crowd. Sweat beaded up on my brow. The coat hanging off me looks amazing but it can be a trifle warm. I looked over my shoulder at Ianto. He was scoping out the dancers, his blue eyes riveted on the throng of young, available, horny men. I was about to ask him if he wanted to go to the bar or try to find a table when two new arrivals to the club swooped in and made off with my newest agent. They were cute lads, probably Ianto’s age or maybe a bit younger. One had Ianto’s left wrist and the other his right. They pulled him away, leading him to the dance floor. Ianto threw me an uneasy look.

I smiled to put him at ease and then made my way to the bar. Along the way, I patted a few hard bellies and tight asses. Half the crowd were shirtless. Lucky me. Elbowing my way to the bar I ordered two bottles of dark black stout then removed someone’s hand from my ass…after a moment or two, of course. Several men gathered around me. It was flattering to be the center of all this attention, but my sight kept flickering to Ianto on the dance floor. He didn’t seem to be loosening up much. I paid for the beers, wiggled through the group of admirers, and found a cement pylon holding up the ceiling to rest my hip against.

The beer was so cold it made my head ache for a moment. It was a delicious brew, smoky and strong. Muscular. No, that was Ianto who was now coming my way looking like a flustered duck. This is going to sound petty but seeing how much he disliked the groping opened a floodwall of emotions that flowed over me unexpectedly. I took a drink to wash down what I could of the not-so-tiny spark of possessiveness that had bloomed in my chest while watching the touching and stroking. The flood of hops, malt, and covetousness splashed around a rapidly growing ember of arrogance in the knowledge that two sexy young men couldn’t hold a candle to me in his mind. It was a real battle to get the warring sentiments under enough control to look imperturbable by the time he arrived at my side.

“Well. That was a first.” He leaned in to talk beside my ear. I handed him his ale.

“You didn’t seem to enjoy them much.” I waved my half-empty bottle in the general direction of Frank and Fred Fondle out on the dance floor. Ianto downed half his beer in a long, steady pull then slowly shook his head. A blue laser raced over us. Someone jostled Ianto as they passed behind him. He shifted closer, his beer resting casually in his fingers but his jaw belied his outward calm. The man was rattled.

“It was too much touching.” His gaze found mine and I knew I had pushed him too far and too fast. I called myself a fool. “Too much of everything. It’s not about men for me, it’s about you, you know that.”

I refused to look at him. If I did I’d be lost in him. Coming up with bon mots to counter his fucking candor and love was growing tiresome and difficult. For every brick that I hurriedly shoved into the wall around my heart Ianto tore out four. I was losing and I knew I was losing but the fear of holding him and watching the life flicker and go out in his eyes in some future scenario was stronger than the joy his words brought. I was one seriously fucked-up man. What _did_ he see in me? “Most men of your sexual orientation would _love_ having that kind of attention. I know I did.” There. That should throw a bucket of cold water on things. He’d be wounded and withdraw and I could hurry to cram a brick into place.

A small smile appeared on his sensual lips. “You used the past tense.”

“What?” I lowered my beer from my mouth before I could take a drink.

“You said ‘did’ and not ‘do’. Which means that at one time you would have dove into that kind of attention but now you wouldn’t.”

I stared at him for several minutes. He looked smug as he sipped on his ale. I thought I saw the brick wall around my heart starting to teeter dangerously.

“Time to get back to work,” I announced and shoved what remained of my beer into Ianto’s chest. I exploded out the back door and into a small parking lot that backed another row of shops, my fingers in fists at my side. Ianto emerged a moment later. I was on him like a wolf, pushing him into the wall of the club, the sound of air leaving his lungs at the impact flipping on a primal switch. I found his arms, jerked them over his head, and pinned his hands to the wall as I attacked his mouth.

I hungrily claimed him. At first, he battled back slightly, fear of discovery nibbling at his passion probably, but then he folded under the onslaught. I leaned into him, pressing his back to the wall to ensure he could feel how hard I was. A soft gurgle escaped him before he began to respond in kind. His tongue rolling over mine was all the invitation I needed. I dropped his hands and went for his fly.

“Jack, what the bloody hell?” Ianto panted. I nipped at his lower lip, freed his cock, and fell to my knees. “Your coat…” he gasped. I sucked him into my mouth, slipping all the way down his length. “Fuck, Jack, dear God…what if someone…” He then fell into making slurred, guttural sounds as his fingers dug into my hair. I grabbed his hips to control his thrusts then pulled off sloppily. His nails scored over my scalp. I did it again, taking all of him down my throat knowing he loved it when I did that. He moaned and I sucked faster, harder, determined to show him...something. Maybe I was showing myself that I was still in control of him and my feelings? Who knew. It really was not my finest moment, I freely admit that. His cry of completion bounced off the cars and walls. A bright light moved over us.

“Oi! What the hell is going on back here?” Ianto yanked me off as the beam of a ridiculously bright flashlight settled on us. “Oh God. Is that… Ianto? Jack? Oh shit. Fucking hell. Oh, dear God,” PC Andy stammered, his flashlight trained on us. Ianto cussed like a sailor and rushed to tuck and zip. I pushed to my boots, squinting into the light, and ran the back of my hand over my mouth as I swallowed. “I never knew…you two were…I mean, I thought someone was being mugged or something. I heard the shout. Shit, oh hell. Shit. I’ll stop looking now. Sorry, really.”

The constable whirled around as Ianto continued cursing. Wonderful. How the _hell_ would I ever talk our way out of _this_ little illegal bout of lewd and indecent?

 

 

 

Acknowledgements to Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. for supplying the inspiration for the title of this chapter, which was taken from the quote below:

 

**_Love is the master key that opens the gates of happiness, of hatred, of jealousy, and, most easily of all, the gate of fear._ **

****

 

 

**To be continued…**


	2. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Two - Let Sleeping Weevils Lie

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Two**

**Let Sleeping Weevils Lie**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

The cloud of awkward that settled over the three of us could have covered Britain, Wales, and a goodly section of Scotland. Probably up to Perth at least. Andy stood staring at his feet, Ianto was tucking and blushing, and I was really in need of a breath mint. Not that Ianto didn’t taste amazing because he did. Maybe a mint or a stick of gum would give me something to do with my mouth that _wouldn’t_ land us behind bars. Seems my tongue always got me in some sort of trouble.

“Well, this is a little uncomfortable,” I said. Someone had to start speaking. Both the other men mumbled and fiddled with their clothing. “Okay, let’s just get it out, shall we?”

“That’s probably what he said to Ianto,” Andy muttered under his breath, glanced up, saw me staring at him, and turned a lovely shade of currant. “Shit. Did I say that aloud?” I nodded. “Sorry. Yes, well, I’m not quite sure what to do here.”

“You could pretend that you never saw what you saw,” I said, hoping against hope that he’d just walk off. “Are you on duty?”

He folded his arms over his jacket. A fine mist was now falling on us. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“I was just wondering if you’d like to go hunting with us, if you’re off-duty that is.” Ianto made a sound of shock behind me. I waved a hand behind my back to indicate he should shut the hell up. Andy’s eyes flared at the suggestion.

“Is that what you two are doing? I mean aside from…uh -  aside from well - you know.”

“Yes, that is precisely what we were doing. We’re out hunting for aliens. If you’re not on the beat now, we’d be happy to have you come along. Gwen did mention that you’ve approached her numerous times about openings on the team.” Andy was having some difficulty concealing his glee. Yes, I know, it was a shitty thing to do but ending up in jail because I’d been giving my office boy head in a public alley would have been shittier. The thought of having to call Owen to come post bail was inconceivable. Ianto and I would never live it down. “You think you could handle being in the sewers for a few hours to show me how you work under pressure?”

“Yes, sure! I’d love to. I was just on my way home to watch some telly and heard someone…” his gaze darted to the man hiding in shame behind me, “…it’s not important what I heard. And since I was off-duty I’m sure I can overlook what I saw. I mean couples get carried away all the time, right?”

“Exactly.” I grabbed his hand and shook it briskly. “Why don’t we get going then? The night is short and we have lots of aliens to track down.”

Andy wore an ear-to-ear grin. My factotum, on the other hand, was not impressed.

“You do recall that I had to beg, plead, ply you with coffee, risk being run over, and possibly end up being strings of meat stuck between the teeth of a pterodactyl before you would even give me a _chance_ of working with you?” Ianto spat at me as we hustled off to find our weapons. Andy was bringing up the rear, whistling merrily.

“Does Patty have teeth?” I mulled.

“Patty? You named the pterodactyl Patty? Patty the pterodactyl? Honestly?”

“Well it could be a Paul. Hard to tell really.” We slipped back into the alley across from the club.

“Alliteration aside, do you think this is a good idea?” Ianto demanded, his voice an angry whisper.

“Do you think sitting in a cell and having to call Owen to come cough up bail money is a better idea?” I asked, stopping dead to stare at him as he fumbled verbally.

“No, not in the least,” he finally got out.

“My thoughts exactly. Now we get to enjoy Andy’s company and training,” I loudly said. The constable nodded happily. Ianto looked like he had swallowed a hedgehog. When nothing more was said, I set off leaving Ianto to chat with Andy.

“So, you and the boss, huh? I didn’t know you were gay.” I heard Andy asking my coffee boy. “I mean, I know you had a girlfriend. Pretty thing too she was or so Gwen has said.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Ianto’s terse reply came a moment later.

“Ah, so you’re bisexual then. Best of both worlds, eh?”

I kept walking while envisioning the crude wink and nudge Andy was giving Ianto.

“God, I hate that.” Ianto’s response was clipped and bordering on angry by the sounds. “Being bisexual is…difficult. Everyone thinks you’re out shagging anything you can get your hands on but that’s not _close_ to the truth. You want to know my truth? I don’t fit in with any group.  I don’t fit with the straights because I shag men. I don’t fit with the gays because I’ll sleep with a woman. The only one who really understands me is Jack, and no, he is not gay.”

“What else is there? Did they add more letters? Are there new ones after LGBT? I can’t keep up. Did I just step into it?”

I smiled softly at the letter comment. “I’m omnisexual,” I supplied over my shoulder to the clearly struggling constable behind me.

“Oh. So, there _is_ a new letter. Right. Sorry, my mistake.” I found the mound of boxes and tossed a few aside. “I don’t recall seeing an ’O’ in the mix. What does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he’s attracted to all human beings--” Ianto began.

“And several species of alien,” I slipped in while flipping boxes aside and gathering up our weapons,

Ianto made a sound that made me snort in amusement. “Yes, well, hopefully they were at least human in appearance and not sheep with tentacles.” That comment pulled a chuckle from me. “People who are omnisexual find all genders enticing and will generally settle down with those who win their hearts, regardless of that chosen lover’s sex.”

“On the nose.” I smiled and handed Ianto his gun. Andy pretended not to see the firearms being waved in front of his face. “And for the record, some of the nicest life forms you’ll meet have tentacles.”

“Meeting is one thing. Sleeping with said nice life forms is another.” Ianto gave me a persnickety look as he pocketed his gun.

“You’re being judgmental,” I playfully chided as we began the trek to the university, slowly moving down the alley, our handguns within easy reach but still hidden. “You’d be amazed what a man can do with a warm tentacle on a cold night.”

“I never know if you’re kidding or serious,” Andy mumbled to my left.

“Always assume he’s serious,” Ianto sighed with great drama. The conversation then dropped off as both my hunting companions fell into ruminations about tentacles I imagined. We covered a couple blocks that way, silently checking the streets of Cardiff, and coming up emptyhanded.

“Really, if I cocked things up with the bisexual comment a bit back, I’m sorry. It was just a joke, you know.” Andy stopped under a streetlight to face Ianto. “I’ve no issue with anyone over who they sleep with.” He looked at me and then back to Ianto. “Does a person have to be bisexual to work at Torchwood?”

“No, but it helps,” I told Andy. He gulped. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh, right! See, that whole serious versus kidding thing again,” Andy nervously coughed. I was just about to suggest we call it a night when I caught something out of my peripheral. The Weevil glanced up the deserted street, snarled, and then loped off. “There goes one!”

Andy raced off. I threw Ianto a look then ran off to catch up with the speedy police officer. We rounded the corner, ran for two blocks, and then skidded to a halt in the middle of the wet roadway next to an open manhole cover.

“It went down there,” Andy panted, hands on knees as he worked to catch his breath. “God above, that was some race!”

“Being an Olympic long-distance runner is just as important… as being a good shot on this job,” Ianto huffed while we stood staring down into the dark hole in the road.

“I’ll go down first, Andy you follow, and Ianto will bring up the rear.” No one argued so that was how we climbed down: me, PC Andy, and then Ianto.

“Dear Lord,” Andy gag/moaned, his hands coming up to cover his nose and mouth. “The smell is horrible.”

“Try not to think about the liquid that’s flowing over the tops of your shoes and sitting between your toes,” Ianto called from the back of the parade.

“Bloody hell. I just bought these trainers last week,” Andy complained through his fingers.

“Quiet children,” I loudly whispered over my shoulder as I pulled a flashlight out of one of my coat pockets and lifted it upward. The sewers lay before us, a labyrinth of slimy tunnels. Three beams of light moved around the immediate area. “We stick together. Andy, stay between Ianto and me. You’re unarmed.”

“I have a nightstick,” he chimed up. I shot the man in plain clothes a look. “Well, not on me but I _do_ have one.”

Facing front once again, I felt for my holster, flipped it open, and slid my Webley free. I heard Ianto checking the clip in his gun. We moved forward in silence, one step than another, for what seemed like miles with nothing but the drip of water and the soft squeals of rats. The hem of my coat was absorbing water like a sponge. My feet were soaking wet, my hair was damp and flat to my head, and I still had the zest of my lover on my tongue. All in all, a typical night aside from the policeman at my back.

I rounded a soft corner and paused as my eyes tried to make sense of the sight that lay in front of me. I held up a hand. Andy and Ianto flanked me, our lights roaming over the Weevil’s scattered about. Among the twenty or so aliens – hovering a foot above the brackish water – was a small silver orb with blue lights running around its middle.

“Are they dead?” Andy enquired. I shrugged and stepped closer, my safety off. Nothing stirred. We crept forward. Ianto poked one of the Weevil’s with the toe of his sodden hiking boot. It never blinked. I crouched down to place my ear over the parted mouth of one of the aliens. Ianto hunkered down to try to find a pulse on the one lying next to mine.

“They’re asleep,” Ianto and I said in unison.

“Is this one of your goodies?” Andy asked as he picked up the levitating orb.

“ _Don’t touch it!_ ” I yelled at the constable. Andy’s eyes flared but he continued to grasp the orb tightly.

“Torchwood. Touching things we shouldn’t since eighteen seventy-nine,” Ianto muttered. I rolled my eyes at the comment. It was one of his favorites. I was shocked he hadn’t had a t-shirt made with that damn saying on it yet.

“Just hand it carefully to me,” I told Andy while extending my left hand. He turned his hand over and the orb didn’t drop off.

“It seems to be stuck,” Andy said, his voice hitching a bit toward the end. “It feels tacky like something wet is making it adhere to my skin.” He shook his hand violently. The orb flew off after a particularly hard shake. Ianto lunged for it and caught it.

“Didn’t I _just_ say not to touch the damn thing?” I barked at my lover.

“I thought it might blow up if it hit the ground,” Ianto shouted back. “Everything near us blows up eventually.”

I couldn’t argue that point with him. “Just give it to me and wash your hands off after you pass it along.”

“I’m relatively sure that whatever the bonding agent on this orb is it _cannot_ be more foul than what is swirling around my ankles,” Ianto snipped. I pulled the orb from his palm.

“Hello, guys? I’m feeling a bit tuckered so I think I’m just going to…”

I glanced to the left in time to see Andy slither to the ground and fall asleep, sewer water washing around his shoulders and ears.

“What the hell?” I asked and got no reply. When I looked at Ianto, he gave me a sleepy smile and went down like a bag of rocks, his head coming to rest on the chest of a dozing Weevil.

“Shit,” I sighed as the first wave of exhaustion settled into my mind. I was so tired suddenly. The orb hummed softly in my palm, the lights spinning round and round so soothing. Sleep. I really had to get some sleep.

I went to one knee, tucked the orb into my chest, and fell to the side, my cheek meeting the cold water before I could…

 

**To be continued…**


	3. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Three - Homecoming

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Three**

**Homecoming**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

I stretched and yawned, my face warmed by the glorious sun overhead. The wicker chaise lounge under me creaked as I moved about. I heard the snorts and slobbering grunts of Bud and Lou approaching my napping spot in the flower garden. The soft breeze carried the sounds of the radio playing loudly in the kitchen of the main house. I let my arms dangle over the sides of the chaise, my fingers resting on the flagstone patio that Ianto had insisted be laid after we had the walkways completed. “Moonlight Serenade” blew over me as did the scent of English roses.

The bulldogs found my hands lying on the ground. Tongues slipped between my fingers. A smile tugged at my lips as I feigned sleep. Then I heard Christopher giggling. The dogs would never leap on me as I napped, they were too well-trained. My son on the other hand…

I braced for the impact. The four-year-old pounced on my stomach just as Ianto shouted for the lad to stop. My eyes flew open as my arms went around the ball of giggles and energy.

“I’m sorry, he got away from me.” I looked over at Ianto as he jogged onto the patio. His cheeks needed a razor but otherwise he looked incredible. His hair neatly trimmed, his firm body dressed in trousers and a short-sleeved shirt that hung loosely over his belt. “Looks like nap time is over for all of us.”

“He’s fine,” I chuckled then tickled the tow-headed boy sitting on my stomach. His gray eyes went wide then he doubled-over, his squeals making the bulldogs snuffling around the edges of my flower garden whine.

“You spoil him,” Ianto chided gently, his words lacking any real recriminations for our adopted son. Ianto gave into the boy with more frequency than I ever could. He was home with Christopher daily, his writing career affording him the luxury of staying here in Hay-On-Wye while I was off working as an American “liaison” with the Royal Air Force in London.

“Since I only have a week with him, I think a little spoiling is acceptable.” I held the boy close, inhaling the smell of Gwen’s lavender soap coming off his overheated skin. The dogs decided to join in on the good times and jumped up onto the low chaise and dropped over my thighs. Drool began to soak through my dress pants.

Ianto scolded the tan-and-white dogs to get down. “Look at your uniform trousers.”

“Stop fretting over my pants,” I told the man standing over me. “I don’t mind a little dog hair or muddy footprints. It’s been six months since I’ve been dirtied by dogs or little boys. Let me be grimy for a bit.”

A fat bumblebee lazily flew past. It felt like we were worlds away from London, trying to rebuild the city from the ruins of the blitzes, and my covert missions with the BSC or British Security Coordination. The BSC is a covert operation set up in the States by M16 with the authorization of the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. Its purpose is to investigate enemy activities, help with propaganda to ensure Pro-British sentiments in the States, and prevent possible sabotage of British interests in the Americas. I had been one of the few elite agents to be brought across the pond to aid in the war efforts here. Which had worked out well because Ianto was here which is one large reason why I had put in for the post to begin with.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry for fretting.” He looked at me with so much emotion that I could barely draw in a breath. “I just want your leave to be perfect.”

“And it will be. Just being home with my husband and son makes it perfect.”

“Pop, can we go to the big pond after supper?” Christopher asked, his muddy shoes resting on my white shirt. His accent still made me smile. It was slowly becoming a soft mixture of Cockney and Welsh with a few American twinges tossed in for good measure. His speech represented his new life perfectly, I felt.

“You’ll have to ask Papa,” I replied. Both Christopher and I both looked at Ianto pleadingly.

“Can we go to the big pond after supper, Papa?” Butter wouldn’t melt in the child’s mouth.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “As if I can resist both of you? Yes, but only if you eat all your turnips and potatoes. That goes for both of you.”

My son and I both made faces of disgust. Then I picked him off my chest and set him to the flagstones. The dogs lifted their blocky heads to gaze at me. I scratched both behind their ears, smiling at the way their tongues fell out of their mouths. They were powerful dogs. Wide and stocky, tenacious, and utterly loyal. A perfect choice for us and since I worked with another bulldog on occasion the breed seemed fitting. We’d gotten them as pups when we’d first moved out here to our little slice of heaven and moon dust. It was the way that Ianto had laughed at the two brother’s antics that had given them their monikers. Few comics could make my spouse laugh like Abbott & Costello so we named them after his favorite comedians.

I sat up, swinging my feet to the flat stones that sat in a round circle smack dab in the middle of the gardens. Christopher and the dogs went off to nose around under the hundreds of hollyhocks lining the garden wall, the tall flowers nearly obscuring the old field stone fence that surrounded the garden area from the rest of the grounds. Forty acres in Wales we now called home. My sight touched on the main house with its thatched roof and stone walls warming in the sun. Tiny windows lined the two floors of our house. The grass was lush and deep green. A tiny manmade pond sat in front of the house, a favored place for our son to try to catch bullfrogs and tadpoles since the big pond by the pastures was only allowed with adult supervision. Back behind the main house sat the servant’s quarters which was now the home of our caretaker and his wife. Speaking of which…

“Where’s Andy?” I asked Ianto as I pushed to my feet.

“Off to gather up the sheep that you wanted.” My husband stepped closer and began dusting off the dirt on my shirt. His hands stalled and simply rested on my upper chest after a moment. Our gazes touched and held. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Same here.” I cupped his cheek, the sun glinting off the gold band on my left hand. Ianto’s eyes drifted shut. The wedding band held my attention for some odd reason. I’d worn the thing for over two years now, why would it suddenly be of such interest? “Should we be wearing wedding bands?” I asked, my mind stuck in a groove like a needle on a scratched phonograph record. Ianto’s arms curled around my waist. My sight stayed on the wide gold band. An odd sort of clicking sound filled my ears, like castanets being played. “Should two men be wearing wedding bands in the forties?”

The needle in my mind suddenly leaped out of the divot it had been stuck in when Ianto chuckled beside my ear.

“Jack, you really _did_ need a leave. Men and women have been able to marry each other for years now.” He pressed a kiss to my neck. The silly worry over the band fading off into nothingness. Yes, of course same sex marriage was legal. What _had_ I been thinking?

“I’m still groggy, I guess. Let’s round up the troublemakers and go see if those turnips and potatoes are ready yet.”

He nodded but didn’t move. His eyes slowly opened. Christopher laughed as he and the dogs played among the hollyhocks.

“I love you, Jack. I’m so glad you’re home and safe.”

“I love you too.” I stole a kiss as contentment and joy filled my heart. Life was a dream.

 

 

**To be continued…**


	4. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Four - Touched by Moonbeams and Nightmares

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Four**

**Touched by Moon Beams and Nightmares**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

**“** Pop, is the sheeps coming soon?” Christopher asked me, his head resting on my shoulder as Ianto and I walked from the farm pond to the main house.

“They should be here soon,” I told the tyke riding on my hip.

Dusk was settling over our homestead and it would soon be time for some tea and biscuits to go with the radio for a few hours before bed. Our time by the big pond after dinner had been heavenly. The dogs and Christopher had run themselves into near exhaustion. Ianto had rolled up his pant legs and waded out into the water with our son, their hands clasped, to try to scoop up skimmers or the unwary tadpole or two in a canning jar our cook/housekeeper had also sent along.

I’d sat on the bank, stretched out on the blanket that Gwen had insisted we bring, enjoying the serenity of my life here with Ianto. Marrying him had been the best decision I had ever made. He completed me. We were similar and yet different. He preferred the quietude of his study and his typewriter where he could spin fanciful science fiction tales that the masses gobbled up like penny candy. I liked action instead of sitting around pushing a pencil or tapping on a typewriter yet we fit as if we had been crafted for each other.

Sadly, since the war his sales had dwindled due to the lack of paper for such luxuries as books, but I was confident that after the Allies kicked Hitler’s ass, I. Jones and his odd stories would return to the best-sellers list. The man was always writing. He’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and slip off to write, the clacking of his typewriter letting me know he was back at it and making up tales about little green men from Mars. I’d never get the lure of such silliness but his readers clamored for it, likening his books to those of Verne or Rice-Burroughs.

“Come along dogs,” Ianto called. Lou and Bud loped along at our sides, looking as tired as Christopher did. As we neared the main house, I handed our son off to Ianto and climbed over the split-rail fence with ease. Then I took the sleepy lad from my husband. The clatter and bang of a truck pierced the still of the evening. Christopher’s golden head flew from my shoulder.

“The sheeps! The sheeps!” he shrieked then wiggled to get down. I held him tightly. The boy had no sense of danger at all. If you told him to leap into the pond he would without giving it a second thought. Ianto shouted at the dogs and they sat on their wide asses but continued to woof at the old farm truck pulling in beside the refurbished barn. “Pops, let me goes!”

“Not until Andy has the truck parked.”

The boy was a handful. He’d filled out well on Gwen’s good cooking and all the love his two fathers and the Davidson’s gave him. He was a completely different child than the one that I had brought home from London. He’d been an orphan alone in the world when I’d found him after going out with a few other operatives – I mean American liaisons – after a particularly nasty night of Luftwaffe bombings.

I’d taken the shaken, thin boy to the nearest church and told them to contact me about anything he may need. Two weeks later a note from the vicar had been placed into my hand informing me that the boy was healthy enough to be relocated. I knew full well what Operation Pied Piper was all about. I’d been a part of several secretive missions to smuggle British children out of the large cities to safety.

Some went to rural areas of Britain, others to Canada, the States, New Zealand, or Australia. The child had stalked my dreams nightly and I was not going to allow him to go off to some strange country where God only knew what might happen to him. So, I had asked for a short leave, gathered the lad up, and drove out to Hay-On-Wye one rainy night. Ianto had been waiting for us. He had taken one look at the haunted child and had fallen in love. Our official adoption papers had been hurried through and even signed by Churchill himself. And now here we were dashing to the Austin livestock carrier truck to see our new family members.

We met Gwen exiting the main house, her hands balled up in her apron, her gap-toothed smile wide for her husband. “About time, Mr. Davidson!” she called as she waddled to the truck. The stink of sheep filled my nose. The terribly pregnant wife of our caretaker wrinkled her freckled nose when the stench hit her.

“Now don’t be jawing at me, woman. You any clue how hard it is to catch ten sheep?” Andy shouted as he exited the truck. He removed his cap as soon as Ianto and I rounded the front of the truck. “Captain, Mr. Jones. Sorry I’m late. We had a bit of a tussle with the ram. You’ll be wanting to keep the lad on this side of the fence I think.” Andy reached back to rub his ass while giving us a smile.

“Poor man,” Gwen cooed then pecked him on the cheek. “Come inside after you’ve done getting those smelling things out of the lorry. I’ve got some supper warming for you in the stove. Here now, shall I take the lad in and start his bath?”

“No, you will not. You, Mrs. Davidson, are to go sit in the parlor, turn on the radio, and have a cup of tea,” I told Gwen.

“As your husband I second what the dashing Captain said. Now off with you. Get off those feet of yours.” Andy pecked his ladylove on the cheek. Gwen gave us all dark looks but didn’t argue which proved just how uncomfortable she was. “Lass is stubborn as those bulldogs of yours. Bites has hard as one as well.”

We men chuckled at the comment as the woman in the soft yellow dress slowly made her way back to the main house.

“Mr. Andy, sir, is the sheeps ready to come out?” Christopher, who now seemed wide awake, asked.

“They are at that. Let’s get them turned out and into the barn. You stay here with your Papa. Captain, I hate to ask seeing as how you’re on leave, but could you give me a hand herding them into the barn?”

“Of course,” I replied then handed Christopher off to Ianto.

“Mind those trousers. I know they’re only for knocking around but they’re still new,” Ianto said.

“You sound more like Gwen every day.” I kissed him lightly then went off to aid Andy.

He was right. The big black ram was not the friendliest of fellows. He put me and Andy out of the pasture several times, much to the delight of my son and husband. After the ram and his nine lovely ewes were locked into their new home, we all went inside. Tea, a plate of rosemary butter cookies baked earlier in the day, Andy’s dinner on a plate warm from the oven, and the BBC radio show “It’s That Man Again” greeted us. Well, after we gents washed the stink of sheep off, of course. We all had a good laugh at Tommy Handley’s shenanigans as Christopher battled valiantly to keep his eyes open. By the time nine rolled around, the child and Mrs. Davidson were done in. Andy helped his wife to her feet and they headed home. Ianto and I wished the young couple goodnight then climbed up the stairs, one sleeping boy in my husband’s arms, after banking the fire in the fireplace and turning off the lights.

Our bedroom was dimly lit, the only light coming from a low fire in the hearth. The walls throughout the home were white, the beams that ran overhead and formed the doorways golden oak, and the floors highly-buffed silver birch. As Ianto tucked our boy into his little bed I moved around our room, cracking the window that looked out over the flower garden to counter the heat from the fire. As I wiggled up the sticky sash I glanced at my wrists. Top pane resting in my hands, I tipped my head and tried to recall why my bare left wrist seemed so odd. In the far corner of my mind I heard the castanets again. No, no, not castanets… the clicking was more like Morse code but not.

“He never stirred. Not even when the bedsprings squealed.” Ianto had slipped into our bedroom unbeknownst to me. I pushed the pane up then turned to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just…” I lifted my left hand into the air as he began to unbutton his shirt. “What do I wear on this wrist?”

“A wristwatch?” His eyebrows knitted. “Is this a trick question?” Ianto smiled then gently pushed the thick wooden door to our room closed. A rush of pleasure entered my fuzzy head then, a glow of love and contentment that pushed all the stupid stuff away.

“I’m sorely in need of this leave. And you. God above but I need some of you.” His blue eyes ignited at my words. We each took a few steps, eager to touch each other but not wanting to rush. Rushing would mean the moment would be over that much faster. Yet it had been so long that there was no way we could hold off. It was an exhilarating and wholly erotic pickle. I took his face between my hands and held his head gently so I could kiss his face. Not just his mouth but his cheeks, his brow, his eyelashes, and his chin. His breath fluttered across my cheek, hot and moist and sweetly scented with mint tea. It mingled with his earthy cologne and the unique smell of his skin. Eyes closed I breathed it in, held the aroma of him in my lungs, and then exhaled long and slow.

Ianto pressed in for the kiss, his tongue touching the corner of my mouth, a move that always pushed me past my self-imposed limits. Tipping his head I slid my tongue into his mouth. At the first hot sweep of his tongue over mine, all pretense of this being a long, gentle, lovemaking session flew out that half-opened window behind us. I yanked on his shirt like a man starved. Ianto ripped at my suspenders, pulling them down over my arms until they caught. I dropped his face to shake free of them and then clapped a hand to the back of his neck. I jerked him around, my mouth slanting over his. We tripped over our feet and the clothes falling off us. When his back met the bed, he was naked and I had one pant leg to free myself from.

“Hurry, Jack.” He was breathless and rigid, his beautiful cock slick with his juices. I thumbed a pearly drop off the head then lapped the spunk from my finger. Ianto groaned, his eyes smoky, his expression sultry. He grabbed at me, his fingertips digging into my sides. It was obvious neither of us would last long, not this first time. Six months of waiting would have us on the edge before I even penetrated him.

“Ianto…” It was all I could say because seeing him writhing under me, so hot to have me inside him, stole all my words and rational thought. I reached back to the bed stand and found the tin of petroleum jelly. Ianto helped with the lid and the application, his tongue wetting his lips as he smeared a thick layer of lubricant over my cock. “Stop, stop. Your touch is too tempting.” He dropped my prick then reached over his head to wrap his fingers around two of the twelve wrought-iron spindles of our headboard. “I’m sorry in advance for how fast and hard this is going to be.”

“Do not apologize. Just get inside me.” His voice was weak and rough with desire. He drew his legs up for me. Hands on his knees I pushed his thighs into his chest, eyes downcast on the head of my cock sliding over his opening. Each thrust drew a gasp and groan from the man. “Jack, damn it! Stop teasing. Ah! Yes, yes.”

Ianto was tight, hot, and mine. He hissed through his teeth as I pushed past the barrier of muscles. “It’s been too long,” I panted, pressing into him slowly but steadily. When I was buried to my balls I took just a second, because that was probably all my body would allow before it overrode my brain, and tried to commit this sight to memory. When I was next alone and facing down death I wanted this image to be the one that popped up. Ianto Jones-Harkness under me, his mouth slightly parted, his chest heaving, his skin pink from the fire and the lust beating through him, and his eyes locked on me.

“Fuck me, Jack,” he whispered then tightened around me internally. My eyes fluttered and slid upward as my head rolled back. I withdrew until just the head of my cock rested inside him and then my hips punched forward. Ianto yelped then purred in pleasure. We began to move then, him lifting to meet my thrusts. He pulled one hand free and wrapped his fingers around his cock. I came violently and quickly, my grip on his legs sure to leave bruises on his pale flesh. Ianto was past caring about such things as marks on his legs. His body was seizing up as he came in unison with me. His cock jumped in his hand, coating his fingers and stomach. I held him in place until my balls stopped contracting. He whimpered and rolled his hips, his body eager to get more of me into it. If only I had even another half inch to give him but I didn’t. I was seated in him as deeply as possible.

“Sweet shit.” I huffed as I willed my fingers to loosen their grip. I pulled out then covered his body with mine, his spunk smearing into my chest as I dropped onto him then rolled us to our sides. His mouth was soft, pliable, loving. I tasted deeply, touching his teeth with the tip of my tongue as his fingers bounced along my ribs then tickled the skin stretched tightly over my hip. “You’re so handsome.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to say to you,” he lazily replied. “I’m just the odd Welshman who writes about people from Saturn.”

“But you’re _my_ odd Welshman,” I informed him. That got me that soft, loving smile. Then he burrowed into me, his head on my outstretched arm, and fell asleep. I reached down, found the end of the duvet, and yanked. It slipped up over us then settled around our ears. I dropped off as quickly as Ianto had done, my body and soul sated now.

 

_I was backing down a hallway, firing a machine gun at a trio of odd robotic cones that were advancing on me. They pressed on, the bullets bouncing off their coppery-gold exteriors. My heart beat on the inside of my ribs so hard I feared it would break free of my chest. When the automatic weapon ran dry I threw it aside, the threesome still advancing – always advancing – until my back was against a wall._

_Hand clammy, I reached behind me and pulled out a handgun knowing it would be useless against the trio that had cornered me. A long extension from the bumpy cone’s facial area – if you could call it that - glowed blue and never wavered. Two short white lights atop their heads blinked. Each shot ricocheted off. The handgun emptied quickly. Two long appendages that could have been arms but looked like a plunger and an egg beater waved about. I dropped the handgun and faced them._

_“EXTERMINATE!” the one in front cried, its voice grating and something that once heard could never be forgotten or mistaken._

_“I kind of figured that,” I said then opened my arms. The blast that came from one of those arm-like appendages blew me back into the wall, killing me instantly._

My scream woke me up.

 

**To be continued…**

 


	5. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Five - Tea at Dawn

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Five**

**Tea at Dawn**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

A hand touched me in the dark. I lashed out, bound in the horror of the nightmare. Ianto grunted. I flew from the bed, the coverings wound around my legs tripping me. I crashed into the bed stand, knocking the lamp to the floor then fell onto the shattered base. Shards of broken pottery dug into my left hand. The room filled with soft light as Ianto located the matching lamp on his side. My pulse was elevated. I heard blood rushing in my ears, the raspy gasp of my panicked breaths, and that fucking click-clacking sound inside my head. What the _hell_ was that sound?!

“Jack, good Lord.” He touched my bare back. I sat down hard, my naked ass coming to rest on the knotted sheets and goose-down cover. I stared at my hand dully as blood now seeped up around the embedded bits of white pottery. “Look at your hand.”

“I _am_ looking at it,” I muttered. Ianto ran around the dolt sitting on the floor. He returned quickly, knelt beside me with care to avoid the broken bits of lamp, and gently placed one of his old house shirts plucked from the dirty laundry basket under my hand. Blood trickled between my fingers and snuck down over my forearm.

 “We need to attend to this quickly.” He slid a hand under my arm then stood. With a small tug from my husband, I was on my feet. My head now felt blurry, like a bank of fog was creeping in low on the ground to obscure what I was seeing.

“I died. In my dream, I died. The… things…robot things chased me. Backed me into a corner and shot me. I think they killed me with a space gun,” I babbled as Ianto helped me get free from the bedding then led me into the bathroom down the hall. He positioned me in front of the sink and then cranked the cold water on.

“Space guns? Were you reading my books on the train ride home?” He sounded lighthearted but the worry lines around his mouth gave him away. “Stay here until I can fetch us some trousers to pull on.”

I nodded silently as blood swirled around and around in the white sink. Trousers would be good. We didn’t want our son to wake up and see us skipping around with our dicks swinging in the breeze. What in the name of God had I just said to Ianto? _Space robots that shoot jets of white light and speak. Right. Jack Harkness, you are losing your marbles. The war is getting to you, old man._

‘Here, step into these. They’re chore pants but we don’t want you bleeding on good clothes.” Ianto returned wearing old pants and a wrinkled cotton shirt. He bent down and steadied me. One leg then the other, my hand over the sink, my blood going down the drain. He zipped the fly carefully for me. “Okay. Now let’s have a look.”

His mouth was a slim line as he removed my hand from under the water. “I know it sounds crazy but it was so real,” I told him. His worried gaze jumped from my hand to my face. “I could feel the menace they caused. The fear. They terrified me, Ianto. I knew they wouldn’t stop until they killed me, killed us all. They want to wipe us out.”

“The space robots?” He returned his attention to my hand, using a gentle touch to pinch one of the long, thin shards and tug it from my flesh. I hissed as it slid out. He gave me a quick look then stuck my hand back under the water.

“Yes, robots. Well, maybe they weren’t robots. I think they were.” He tugged another chunk free as I described my attackers to him the best I could. My memory of the dream was slipping away rapidly despite how I was trying to hold onto it.

He turned off the tap after having to use tweezers to dig out four small slivers and then wrapped my hand in a soft blue hand towel.

“I think I might know what your killer space robots are.”

“I’m so confused right now,” I confessed, the fog inside my head thickening like gravy on a high flame with every minute that ticked by. At least the clicking was fading away. “Did I hit you?”

“Just a slap to the chest,” he said with a gentle smile. “You’ve smacked my ass harder during sex. It’s fine so please don’t stew on it.”

“I think I’m shell-shocked, Ianto.”

“You are _not_ shell-shocked,” he firmly said. “Your just exhausted mentally and physically. The BSC should not work their operatives – liaisons – as hard as they do. I’ve half a mind to send off a letter to that damn Stephenson who runs things over in New York and tell him that they need to recruit more men to give the agents in the field a bloody day off!”

My chuckle brought his angry eyes from the salve he was smearing on my palm. “You’re such a snappy thing when you get your dander up.”

The corner of his mouth drew up for a second. “I may put up with a goodly amount of shit but I will _not_ tolerate anyone hurting you.” It was too hard to speak over the glob of emotion lodged in my throat, so I merely leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. His whiskers were short and rough on my lips. “There.” He placed the tin of antiseptic salve on the edge of the sink then pulled a clean roll of white gauze and a thick bandage from a first aid kit that was stored under the sink. “Let’s get this wrapped up. Would you like some coffee? It’s nearly dawn and I suspect neither of us will be going back to sleep.”

He nudged me out of the bathroom. We moved past Christopher’s closed door on tip-toe. The kitchen was dark and warm from the fire in the massive stone hearth. Ianto steered me to my chair by the round table then moved around the spacious room, turning on the lights and getting the kettle and percolator on the fire. “I have to grab something from my office.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The look on his face told me he had his doubts but he left me to my own devices anyway. As soon as he was gone, I pushed my fingers of my right hand through my overgrown hair and stared at the flames under the coffee pot. The nightmare was fading quickly as they do. I heard him overhead, the old floorboards groaning as he left his office. Down the stairs, taking care to avoid the fourth one that creaks, and then into the kitchen.

“Is this what you dreamt of?” He held a small sketchbook out to me. “It’s going to be the cover for the second book in my Saturn series. You recall the Mars ones?”

“Yes.” A moment ticked by. “Maybe.”

“No, you don’t because you’ve never read any of my books.”

“That’s not true. I read the first one. It’s just…”

“Yes, I know. You just cannot buy into the ‘aliens from other planets’ nonsense.” I shrugged. “Look at the first drawing.”

I flipped the sketchbook open. There, on the first page, was a perfect image of one of my nightmare space robots. I feared that this ugly bastard would forever be burned into my brain. My gaze flew to Ianto taking two mugs out of the cupboard. A bird sang outside, its call shy as the morning now creeping into our garden.

“How?”

He kept his back to me as he fussed with preparing the old tea pot he and I had found at one of the shops in town.

“How did your nightmare come to be in my sketchbook?” he asked.

“Yes, how did that happen?” I held the book in two hands, my sight stuck on the detailed drawing. My left palm was starting to ache.

“I sketch out the antagonists and protagonists in my books, as you know.” Yes, I did know that. He was always leaping up from bed, a meal, or listening to the radio to jot down plot lines or dialog or try to draw one of his crazy space aliens on any scrap of paper he could find. “That rather nasty bit of work came to me in a dream one night when you were in France.” He paused and I glanced up from the nightmare in my hand. “Or was it when you were in Poland? One of those two places.”

“You dreamt about this thing?” I shook the sketchbook. He turned with the porcelain teapot in his hands and nodded. “I dreamt about it too. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“No, not really.” He walked over and put the pot on the table then slid a crocheted tea cozy under it. “You’d obviously seen the sketch at some point, or perhaps I mentioned it to you and you shoved it into some obscure corner of your mind as you do most things that have to do with my books.”

“I listen to you when you talk about your books.” I closed the sketchbook feeling significantly better about everything in my life. A yawn escaped. My eyelids felt heavy. Sleep was creeping up on me. No, it more than crept, it rode up on me like a Panzer. “I need to go lay down.”

He looked at me with concern. “Of course, go stretch out on the couch. I’ll bring you some coffee as soon as it gets done percolating.”

“I’m sorry for all of this.” I pushed to my feet and yawned again.

Ianto smiled at me lovingly. “No need to apologize. Your mind just stored that tidbit somewhere and then set it lose during the night.”

“Right, yeah, I guess so.” I was so exhausted I could barely shuffle my feet across the hardwood floor. “Does that monster robot thing have a name?”

“I named it a Dalek” His eyes glazed over for a split-second then refocused on me trying to stay awake long enough to hear his reply. “I don’t know why I called it that.”

I clung to the thick beam of the doorjamb. “For some reason, it fits,” I said then fumbled my way to the sitting room and dove at the sofa, sleep overtaking me so quickly and completely I slept until noon with not a dream or nightmare to speak of.

 

 

To be continued...


	6. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Six - Small Awakening

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Six**

**Small Awakening**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Thankfully my symptoms of mental duress (Ianto had forbade the term “shellshock” to be used in our house or within earshot of him or our son) didn’t resurface for the next two days of my leave. Spending time at the farm with my husband and our child, petting sheep and skipping rocks over the pond during the day then chasing fireflies and making love to Ianto at night, was idyllic. How I wished I could linger here forever, lost in all the joy life had heaped upon me.

Sadly, I knew my leave would end shortly. As did my husband.

“What say we head into town today instead of knocking around the farm?” He asked as he padded up behind me in the bathroom. I looked over my bare shoulder at him then rinsed my razor off in the sink.

“Out of books?”

“Silly man, I make books in my head.” Ianto pressed his long, hard body into my back, his arms slithered around my middle. He kissed the nape of my neck. His hands began to roam, one slipping under the waistband of my pajama bottoms, the other massaging my left pectoral. His arousal was evident and resting between my buttocks. “Your hair needs tidied up a bit and we are not letting Gwen anywhere near you with shears again.”

The memory of that one failed attempt at barbering by our little Gwen made me snicker. “Agreed. Her skills do not include cutting hair.”

“No, they do not.” His fingertips dug into the skin over the muscle of my chest. I glanced from my soapy face in the mirror to the open door as he palmed my cock.

“You do remember that the door is open and that our son--”

All groping stopped instantly. “You seem to be an addiction I can’t shake.”

“I’ll have to make love to you twice tonight to make sure you can get through tomorrow.”

He peeked around my head, blue eyes simmering with lust. “I plan to hold you to that, Captain Harkness.”

“Papa! Pops! Me crickets is free!”

Ianto dropped his brow to my shoulder. “Time to go round up insects before Gwen finds a cricket in her morning tea.” He kissed my shoulder then peeled himself off me.

“ _Papa!_ They is singing all over the room!”

Ianto hustled off and I finally finished my shaving. As my husband and son squealed and shouted from down the hall, I gently unwrapped the bandages around my left hand. The wounds were healing nicely but were still tender and inflamed. This would have me on desk duty for a few weeks after I returned to London which would please Ianto to no end. His fear of my death out in the field was obvious whenever we discussed my job – what I was allowed to discuss of it – over dinner or while out walking the boundaries of our farm. He lived in constant dread of my dying, as all spouses of military personnel did. Whenever I left on a mission I whispered a little prayer to the stars that I’d come home unharmed. Not so much for me although the thought of death was frightful, but for Ianto and Christopher.

“Pops! Pops! Come help with the crickets!” Christopher shouted and tugged on the leg of my pajama bottom. I looked down at the boy then ruffled his hair. “I fink Lou and Bud has eated some!”

“Let me put a clean bandage on my cuts and then I’ll be there.”

He grabbed my hand and carefully put his lips amid the puffy cuts. “Kisses make the owie heal faster.”

He was already out the door before I could articulate a reply. Thankfully we got all the crickets we could find back into their jar before Gwen waddled in for the day. She looked lovely in a soft white shift that had tiny blue polka dots on it. We told her of our plans for the day and she insisted on packing us a picnic basket, an idea that sounded wonderful to we Harkness men. Andy stopped in to say hello before heading off to purchase hay for the sheep.

Within an hour, we were off, the picnic basket and Christopher riding in the backseat of Ianto’s ’39 Vauxhall 12. It was an older car, the deep red paint chipped in a few spots, but buying a new car would not happen until after the war. The allies needed all the steel they could get their hands on.

Normally, I would be behind the wheel so Ianto could keep an eye on the child bouncing around in the back, but my buggered up left hand prohibited me from shifting comfortably. Truthfully, being able to sit back and watch the wind tugging at Ianto’s hair as it blew in the windows was rather nice. Yelling at our son to sit down as we came into every turn or stop wasn’t so much fun but it was part of parenting.

“Pops, can we get funner music?” Christopher asked as he knelt on the rear seat then pressed his face to the glass of the window closest to him.

“Can we find something more enjoyable on the radio,” Ianto gently corrected. The boy mumbled something with his lips plastered to the window. “And please do not lick the windows, Christopher. The dogs have had their tongues all over that glass.”

Nothing like a family outing in the car. I pushed a button on the radio. When I found “A Lad from Lancashire” by George Formby playing the lad clapped and flopped to his rear to sing along the best he could.

“Should he be singing songs about gay widows and kissing?” Ianto asked then shifted down as we rolled into the bustling metropolis of Hay-On-Wye.

“When we get home, I can break out my Spike Jones records and he can blow raspberries at Hitler.” I lifted my bandaged hand to wave at a clutch of young women gathered outside the fabric shop. They all waved back.

“Raspberries for Hitler is encouraged. You flirting with the lonely war brides is not.”

“I only have eyes for you.”

“Mm-hmm.” His gaze darted to me and I smiled at the humor I saw in his eyes. We parked in front of one of the largest used bookstores in town. After a brisk sprint down the sidewalk to corral our son, we entered the shop. Ianto drew in a deep breath as if he were trying to breath in the bookstore. I never did quite get his fascination with the smell of old books even though I enjoyed reading.

“Why don’t you give him here?” Ianto took control of the lad tugging on my right hand. “I’ll lead him to the children’s section and settle him down with a picture book. The military books are on the second floor right next to the medieval section.” Ianto slipped off, Christopher chattering away steadily, and I climbed the spiral stairs to the second level. There were fewer people up here, old knights and battles didn’t appeal like the modern fiction did. I meandered through the books, running a finger over dusty spines. Battles of days gone by didn’t appeal so I turned a corner and began browsing through the books on a large set of hand-painted shelves.

There was no hiding the grin that broke out when I found a ratty copy of “A Connecticut Yankee in King Author’s Court” by Mark Twain. This was an old favorite of mine. I was known to joke with Ianto about it being my life story since I was a Yank living in the land of Camelot. Taking care with the tome, I eased it out from amid the other books pressed against it. The soft murmur of the few shoppers down below floated up with the dust motes captured in a beam of warm Wales sunlight.

I read the back matter and then flipped the book over. The cover was a modern rendition that showed a knight in full regalia seated on a steed and looking down on a man dressed modernly. The knight was pointing at a castle in the distance, the sun reflecting off his gauntlet. My sight latched onto the silver gauntlet. It held my attention to the exclusion of all else…except the arrival of the clicking inside my head.

 

_“Contraceptives in the rain. Love this planet. Still, at least I won’t get pregnant. Never doing that again. How’s it going?” A dark-haired woman replied. We were out in the rain. A deluge. A dead man at our feet. The woman talking had her hand inside a gauntlet._

 

I dropped the book and tripped back into a bookshelf, scenes flashing in front of me as a scream wedged in my throat. Things that made no sense: me holding a gun on Ianto…saying terrible things to him. Things that I would never say to the man I loved.

 

_“You brought this down on us. You hid her. You hid yourself from us. Now it’s time for you to stand as part of the team. The girl you loved is gone. Your loyalty is to us now.”_

_“You can’t order me to do that.”_

_“You execute her or I’ll execute you both!”_

 

Ianto would never hide anything from me. He was too good, too pure, to in love with me…

“ _Ianto!_ ” I bellowed and wondered who – if anyone – heard it. More scenes rushed by. Visions of creatures and monsters, death, secrets, fear, hate, lust, friends, lovers, death. So much death. Everywhere. Dying over and over and over…Faces that had no names. Flashes of places and galaxies and old friends… a handsome man with warm dark eyes…

 

  _"It's not easy, even just looking at you, Jack, 'cause you're wrong... I can't help it, I'm a Time Lord, it's instinct, it's in my guts.  You're a fixed point in time and space, you're a fact.  That's never meant to happen."_

My scream bounced around me as I fell into a void - a darkness - a hole in my consciousness that had nothing but the cool slap of liquid under me and the clicking. The fucking clicking was _so_ loud. I blinked and tried to sit up but something touched my brow, pushed me back into the liquid that I floated upon. Click-click-click. It never ended. Click-click-click.

“Jack, Jack!” Ianto called to me. I tried to reply but my mouth was filled with tubing now. I bit down hard and gagged as the tube was forced down my throat. “ _Jack!_ No, do not touch him!”

I wept in frustration and pain. I could hear Ianto in my mind but all I could see was blackness and tubing. Thin miles of tubing draped over the bed of liquid that I rested on. There was no screaming now. A blast of warm air filled my lungs as the fog returned to cloud my mind.

Click-click-click.

The bookstore came back slowly, like a pupil opening to drink in more light.

I spun away from my husband and my son, both were terrified but only one was crying. The books on the shelf behind me lay on the floor as did the massive wooden shelving unit itself. My feet tangled. I crashed to the floor, my knees and hands taking the full impact. My son was screaming and wailing. Women whispered behind their hands.

“Jack, dear God, Jack, are you with us now?” Ianto asked his voice thick with worry.

“Ianto, what’s happening to me? I’m going mad, I am, I’m going insane,” I coughed and felt blood wetting the bandage on my left hand. I fell to my ass among books about chivalry and began crying despite my husband’s arms being tightly around me. Then sleep rolled over me like a tidal wave. There was no gentle lapping of the waves of slumber around my ankles this time. Sleep crashed down on me and washed me out to sea.

 

**To be continued…**

 


	7. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Seven - Sketches in Blue

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Seven**

**Sketches in Blue**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Midnight had come and gone. I’d been fed, coddled, and tended to by the doctor who lived down the lane. He’d prescribed a hot bath followed by a hot toddy but no mention of hot sex with a hot man. Probably for the best because I doubted Ianto would ever want to be with me again. I was a madman. A lunatic. Some sort of raving idiot that destroyed bookstores and terrified his own son. It had taken Ianto hours to get Christopher calm enough to fall asleep.

I poured myself another brandy and sat back in the soft upholstered chair that faced the fire in Ianto’s office. The crystal decanter holding the amber liquid rested between my thighs to keep the numbing agent close at hand. This small sanctuary had felt like the only place in the house where I could get away from the worried looks. This room had great emotional attachment for Ianto and I felt safe here, cocooned in the scent of him that lingered on everything.

The door creaked open. I glanced at the man coming inside. My husband looked done in. He paused in the doorway and then stepped in, closing the door softly behind him.

“I can’t think of another time that I’ve ever seen you in here.” He walked behind me and stopped. As soon as his hands settled on my shoulders I felt myself beginning to crack again. A war-maddened Humpty Dumpty of sorts. “You _must_ be rattled.”

“This room is you. When I think of you I see you in here, sitting behind that desk with the early morning sun on your back, typing away.” I took a sip. The brandy slid smoothly down my throat. “Sometimes, when you creep from our bed, I follow you. I stand just outside that door…” I waved my tumbler of brandy at the doorway, “… and I watch you work. You never hear me you’re so involved in your stories.”

“I…I didn’t know that.” He bent down to place a kiss to the top of my head. “We never made it to the barber.” His fingers moved up my neck and raked through my hair. My eyes drifted shut.

“I’m terrified,” I whispered then chased that confession down with the rest of the brandy in my glass. A log spat and sparked in the fireplace. Ianto continued running his fingers through my hair. It was perhaps the most soothing moment I had ever experienced.

“We’ll get you better. You said the hallucinations had nearly faded away by the time you had woke up this afternoon. Perhaps with a few more weeks off the stress will lessen and those visions will stop.”

“The war effort needs me.” I removed the stopper from the bottle and splashed another three fingers into my glass. Ianto reached down and took the decanter from me then carried it to his desk.

“Christopher and I need you more.” He plunked his ass against the edge of his massive desk,  looking so good in his casual clothes that it stole my breath. Dressed for a picnic that had never happened because I was having some sort of breakdown. “Doctor Pilkington said he would gladly write a recommendation to your supervisors telling them you’re suffering from an acute case of--”

“I don’t need our neighbor to lie for me,” I snapped then pushed to my feet, my goal the brandy decanter on his desk.

“I really think you’ve had enough.” I met his look then picked up the brandy anyway. His eyebrows dropped into a deep V. Ignoring his glower, I poured myself another drink then slammed the brandy bottle down on top of a stack of sketching’s. Ianto began prattling on about medical leave as I lightly tugged on the drawings. They were loose images, not part of his sketchbook, most done in blue colored pencil. I set my drink beside the Royal American typewrite that I had bought for him on our last trip to the States.

“When did you do these?” I enquired, cutting him off rudely as I studied the first sketch intently.

“Within the last week,” he replied then tapped the first drawing that had grabbed my attention. “This is going to be the mother of one of my space cadets.”

“What’s her name? She looks familiar.”

“Harriet Jones.”

My sight flickered from the older woman on the paper to my husband. “I know that name.”

“It’s common enough.” Ianto took the tumbler from my hand. I let the drawing of Harriet flutter to the desk. This time a creature looked out at me from Ianto’s sketch. The room began to feel close. Far off in the distance the click-click-click could be heard.

“This thing…I’ve seen this before somewhere.”

“Impossible.” He sloshed some brandy into my tumbler then sipped it tentatively. “I just made that creature up two days ago, when you were napping.”

“No, no, I know this thing.” I shook the page that held the fishy-looking alien in a suit at my husband. “It’s what…what is this thing? Damn it, Ianto, we know this thing!”

“I don’t know. It’s… it’s just a drawing.”

“No, it is _not_ just a drawing, it’s an alien of some sort.” I winced as the clicking grew louder inside my head. Fear began to blossom inside me. Ianto grabbed my wrist. I looked from the sketch to him and saw horror written on his face. “Do you hear it too?”

He shook his head violently. “No, I hear nothing. Jack, please, don’t do this again. Let me get you another hot toddy.” I threw the fish-man aside. The next sketch was rough and obviously done with speed. My pulse doubled as my eyes moved over the interior of a room filled with desks, chairs, and odd things with screens that I didn’t recognize sitting on the top of the desks.

“Ianto…”

“I don’t know where that is.” He sounded panicked. I pulled my sight from the paper in my hand and stared into Ianto’s fear-filled eyes. “Oh, my God, what is that clicking sound?!”

“This place that you drew means something to me too. Ianto, this office is important to us. It’s where I first asked you out.”

Our sight locked. “You talked about photocopying our butts,” Ianto whispered in fear.

“You asked why we were helping him… John Hart. Ianto, what the hell is happening?”

The room closed in around us – around _me_ \- plunging me back into the horrid ebony nothingness of weightless suspension and the click-click-click of castanets or Morse code or … or...

The tubes crisscrossing over my pod parted and the face of an insect appeared. It clicked its mandibles and then the room filled with replies. It looked like no bug I had ever seen on Earth but then again it wasn’t from Earth. If I had to pick a lookalike I’d say a mantis but that was even a stretch. The bastard was brownish-green and ugly. A praying mantis the size of a linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. Charming. No wonder every Torchwood agent has nightmares.

As it leaned closer I looked at myself reflected in its two huge compound eyes and knew what insanity must feel like. My sight flew from the alien’s head to what it held in its pincher-like hand. A tracheal tube. I threw up a hand, IV lines ripping out of my arm spewing clear liquid and blood over my naked chest. The clicking became frenzied. I reached up with my free hand and latched onto a mandible. It snapped off with ease and I used it to stab the bastard in one big eye. It screamed in an unearthly way as yellowish goop flew out of the punctured eye. The bug began to flail as angry insect sounds filled the room.

Shit then went down as the kids say.

I ripped at the IV lines on my right arm then pulled free from the ones in my neck. The partially-blinded alien knocked over the holding tank that I had been suspended in, sending a wash of viscous gel and one extremely pissed off man, to the floor. I hit hard, my hip taking a sound jarring. I still held the pointed mandible as I slipped and slewed to a corner. The clicking communication was horrendous, it filled your head to bursting. Using the cold cement corner for purchase, I pushed to my feet, and got a good look at what I was facing.

Eight to ten massive insects stood guard around two more pod/tubs. Those must hold Ianto and Andy. Knowing I was outnumbered but determined to not be shoved into an empty pod-tub and reattached so these bastards could fiddle with our dreams, I did what any head of Torchwood would do. I leaped at the nearest alien and stabbed it repeatedly in the face with the mandible of its friend. The bug reacted slowly as if it were operating under a good dose of cold medicine or pain killers.

The others pressed their humped backs against the wall. I stood over the bodies of the two I had just killed, naked, heaving, covered with blood and yellow bug juice, and held my mandible-knife up in a threatening manner.

“I will personally stab each of you so many times even the Orkin man won’t be able to identify the parts.” Of course, they had no idea what I was saying but the weapon in my hand and probably the madness in my eye seemed to get the message across. They clicked and clacked to each other as they assessed me with those big eyes. “I’m freeing my friends,” I said while creeping to the tank next to where mine had stood. The sluggish bugs click-clacked in what felt like protest…or perhaps they were begging me not to? I laid my hand on the black pod while keeping the mandible between me and the eight remaining bugs. My eyes darted down to see Ianto floating peacefully, his eyes moving rapidly under his lids. “What are you bastards doing down here?”

Click-click-click.

I began removing the IV lines from his body, carefully though, not tugging as I had mine. One of the bugs stepped forward and began gesticulating wildly as I disconnected my lover. It click-clacked loudly, it’s spindly arms flying around as it tried to convey some message. When I slid Ianto’s tracheal tube out, it doubled over as if in pain. The others began to shudder.

“Were you harvesting our dreams for some reason?” I asked, keeping my sight on the quaking bugs. “Why? Why would you do that? What would you get from us?”

Ianto slithered out of the pod to the floor, my arm around his slick chest, his words slurred and sloppy. I stood over him as he coughed and wheezed, his bare back resting against my right leg. One of the trembling bugs fell forward. I swiped at it with the mandible. For big, terrifying aliens they seemed reluctant to harm us. Why was that?

“You want us alive, don’t you?” I placed a hand to Ianto’s wet head. He coughed up a little more viscous goo then tried to stand. It took him a few tries but we finally got him up despite the slickery mess on the floor. “What the hell do you get from keeping people asleep and dreaming?”

“Endorphins,” Ianto said, his voice reedy and rough. “I wager these tubes push some sort of synthetic dopamine into the victim.” He waved a shaky hand at the tubes that had been hastily hung from the ceiling of this sewer juncture with some sort of adhesive, probably something that the aliens masticated into a paste. “I’m not sure how they collect the high, probably it’s some sort of psychic bond with the supplier which would be the dreamer.”

“You bastards are nothing more than roaming junkies.”

“Which explains why they left the Weevils but took us. Our dreams were probably much more involved and emotional than those of a Weevil.”

“The happier we were in sleep the greater the high because the more endorphins our body produced. I really _hate_ aliens leeching off me,” I shouted at the clearly hurting bugs. I hoped the withdrawal killed them. Talk about being mentally violated. They had plucked the deepest wants and desires from our minds and then used them to keep us happy and them high. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I wish I had my pants.”

“I wish I had my pants as well. Can you get Andy out of his pod?” I didn’t dare lower my guard no matter how I wanted to look at  Ianto to make sure he was unharmed.

“Yes, of course.” He touched my arm then slipped off to extract our friend from his dream tank.

“As soon as you have him freed and steady try to find our clothes, that damn orb, and my wrist strap.”

“On it.” There. Ianto the agent was back. Good. That made me feel a little more stable and a little less prone to weeping over the fantasy life that Ianto and I had dreamed up together. God, poor Andy. Married to Gwen in that little wonderworld of ours. Did Gwen and Rhys know how much Andy cared about her? He would be mortified when he rejoined us here in reality and saw that we knew what his dreams were. I knew when Ianto had disconnected Andy because the insects crumpled to the damp cement floor, clicking in agony as they writhed. I glanced at my left hand. Seeing the unmarred skin sent a huge ripple of despondency through me. I had been just a dream away from growing old with Ianto…

“Why are we standing around in the sewers naked and covered in goo?” Andy asked between coughs to clear his lungs. “Is this part of some kind of Torchwood indoctrination? Did we have sex? Oh God…you two were in my dreams, weren’t you? Did you see it? The farm and my being… Gwen?”

“Yes, we all shared the same dream,” Ianto told Andy.

“Oh, bollocks.”

“Perfectly stated, Police Constable Davidson,” I mumbled and tossed the mandible knife to the floor.

 

**To be concluded…**


	8. Hounds & Hollyhocks - Chapter Eight - Morning Touch

**Hounds & Hollyhocks (Jack POV)**

**Chapter Eight**

**Morning Touch**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

I found him in my office, staring at the open vault as if it held the answer to the mysteries of the ages instead of alien artifacts that I had deemed too dangerous for humanity. How long Ianto had been standing there lost in thought was hard to say. I had been busy getting aliens locked into holding cells. Ianto had been tasked with getting Andy settled in the conference room then locking up that damn orb.

I called his name. He started slightly but didn’t turn or look back at me. His back expanded, the filthy material of his jacket stretching with the massive intake of breath, and he peeled off the gloves he had donned and flung them to the floor. The exhalation was shaky. I went to him then. Placed my hands on those broad shoulders and turned the weeping man around. I could only look into those eyes of his for a brief second. His pain was too large. Ianto fell into me, his weight shifting entirely as I wrapped him in my arms.

“I can still hear him calling me Papa,” Ianto coughed beside my ear. I closed my eyes hoping to ward off the tears but it didn’t work. A few still escaped. “I can smell Gwen’s soap on his skin and hear his laughter. Oh God, Jack, I’m mourning a child that never existed. What is _wrong_ with me?”

“Nothing. There is _nothing_ wrong with you.” I pulled him closer even though there wasn’t an inch of space between us. “I’m mourning him too, and the house and the dogs and the hollyhocks along that damn stone wall.”

“It was perfect, wasn’t it?” Ianto gasped, his fingers balling up in my dirty coat.

“Yes, it was perfect.”

“I’m so embarrassed that you know that I dreamt of marrying you.”

A feeble smile danced on my lips. “I already knew that Ianto.” His body went rigid. I pressed a kiss under his ear. His skin was tacky with sweat, sewer dirt, and dried goo. “You talk in your sleep from time to time.”

“Oh God…”

“Shh, no, it’s okay.”

I pulled back a bit so that I could look at him. He was a mess. His stiff hair was sticking up at odd angles, his face was smeared with filth, his clothes reeked of sewer and Weevil. Yet despite all that he was without question one of the most beautiful and beloved human beings to ever enter my life. His scruffy cheeks were hot with shame. I slid a hand from his back so I could tip his chin up to look into eyes still dewy with tears. Some would say a man so in touch with his emotions was a weakling, a pussy, a poof. I think a man who can cry is just the opposite. Hiding your emotions? That’s weakness, isn’t it? The truly strong men are the ones who love without fear. _So, what does that make you, Jack?_

“Jack, dreams don’t reflect how I feel in real life. If I dream about crafting crocodiles made of spun sugar while Jude Law plays a cello that doesn’t mean that I _really_ want to craft spun sugar crocodiles while--”

“I love you.”

I enjoyed the sight of those words sinking in as I cradled his dirty chin with my fingers.

“You - I…um…you do? Truly? You’re not saying that while rolling your eyes internally in some stupid attempt to make me feel better?”

“Yes, truly. I should have told you months ago, but I was scared. I’m still scared.” I nervously laughed as he stared at me with a rather suspicious look. “Actually, I’m scared shitless. Terrified beyond reason. Shaking in my boots. Which is a really odd saying if you think about it because if your boots are that loose that you can shake in them maybe you should be buying smaller--”

“Jack, you’re rambling.”

“I noticed that myself.”

He smiled. It was a shaky smile to be sure but still it lit me up inside. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say those words to me. Granted, in my fantasies we smelled better…”

I snorted tautly, my fingers spreading over his cheek and neck. “We may require sandblasting.”

His gaze darted over my face. “You know that I love you beyond all measure, yes?”

“Yes. Tell me anyway.”

“I love you beyond all measure, Jack Harkness.”

Probably _I_ should have been the one to kiss _him_. After all, I _was_ the alpha here, right? The head of Torchwood. The boss. The top. The experienced one. The big dog. The lead. But in this _particular_ dance Ianto was in control because he had never been afraid to love me. He had just patiently waited until the moron in the RAF greatcoat could get with the program. I let him take control of the moment because he deserved it. The kiss was raw, grinding, passionate, and hopeful. Yes, hopeful. We’d just suffered and wept together, shared our most intimate dreams and fears, and yet we had come out of the nightmare that much stronger. That much closer. That much braver.

“God, I love you,” I panted when he broke the kiss to suck in some much-needed air. A soft whimper was his reply followed by another kiss that ended only when we stumbled against the wall and he hit his head on the open door of the safe.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” I ran a hand over his head, checked for blood, and when I found none, I made myself step back from him. Several paces. No, that was not enough. Eight. Yes, eight steps and a desk might be sufficient. Maybe. “I keep apologizing.”

“It’s fine.” He caught the overused word then wrinkled his nose. “It’s okay. We’re both wrecks.”

“We are. And we still have one more wreck to deal with.”

“Andy,” Ianto sighed painfully. I nodded. “I have his coffee ready.” His gaze moved to the desk where a steaming cup of coffee sat. I’d been so intent on the man I’d not paid anything in the room any thought.

“Special blend?”

“Yes.” He turned from me to close the safe. I picked up the mug and sniffed. Nothing but the smell of vanilla. “Jack, are we sure about giving him coffee?”

“Yes, we are.” I shook off the emotions clinging to me like a capuchin monkey. “If you want I can split this coffee between the two of you?”

“No, I want to remember Christopher.”

“I do as well.” I blew out a long breath. “Okay then, let’s go give Andy his coffee.”

Ianto followed me into the conference room. Andy sat in the seat that Owen usually occupied. I glanced at the large screen on the wall, shocked to see that only a couple hours had passed since Ianto and I had left Pantomime. The three of us here had lived a lifetime in those few hours. Andy never raised his eyes from the table when Ianto and I entered the room. I walked around the long table and nudged the traumatized policeman with my hip. That got his attention. The poor man looked like he had been fed through a wringer.

“Ianto made the coffee.” I handed the mug to him. His sad eyes flickered to Ianto coming to stand on his left side. Ianto smiled reassuringly. “Take a sip. He’s the best barista in Wales.”

“Flatterer,” Mr. Jones remarked.

Andy lifted the steaming cup to his lips, took a tender sip, and then mumbled into his coffee. “Promise me that you won’t tell Gwen how I feel.”

I placed myself on the opposite side of Andy. “What happens in the sewers stays in the sewers.” Andy grunted then drank deeply, draining half the cup quickly. I watched for any signs and was pleased when the constable began slurring a bit within seconds. Ianto had made a perfect cup of coffee for Andy. I’d taught him well. We needed PC Davidson out quickly as darkness was a limited commodity now. Andy began to blink to clear away the cobwebs forming in his mind. “Have you ever seen the movie ‘Men in Black’?”

Andy snickered then finished off his coffee. “Do you have a flashing thing too? Are you going to flash me and remove my memories of Torchwood and what happened to us?” He tittered then began swaying in his seat.

“Nope, no flashing devices here. Or dark sunglasses, although I _do_ look damn fine in aviator frames,” I said then dove to catch the mug as it slipped from his fingers. Ianto caught Andy before he tumbled to the ground. “Ianto, should I buy some aviator glasses?” I placed the mug to the table then stepped around the sleeping constable to help Ianto heft Andy to our shoulders.

“You fear your dashing quotient is getting low?”

“Me? Lose my dash? Never.”

****

“… and then the alien says ‘That’s not my wife, it’s my battle steed!’”

I roared at my own joke and slapped the table. Andy’s eyes flew open. Ianto and I were laughing hysterically. Andy chuckled sleepily, his eyes still glassy, as he tried to focus on the inside of the Salty Seaman, which was empty save for us and the disgruntled barkeep in the tight jeans and sloppy flannel shirt.

“That one always amuses, Sir,” Ianto commented then waved a hand at the bartender.

“Nope, sorry. You three are done. I’ll get home now in time to only kiss Tosh on the cheek as she leaves for work,” Chadwick grumbled as he ambled over and started clearing the table, a tray under his arm.

“Did we sit here all night?” Andy enquired, his pupils round and fat, his face a little slack. You could see the man trying to locate the lost time in his mind.

“All night and a couple hours over the end of my shift.” Chadwick sniffed as his long fingers wound around several empty beer bottles. “Why don’t you hail the bloke a cab?”

“Let me do that for you, Andy.” Ianto nudged me in the side. I slid out of the booth. Andy saluted us, fell into the wall, giggled, and then latched into Ianto.

I picked up the shot glasses that had been stacked in front of Andy. Each one was clean. “Thanks for hanging around. We owe you.”

“No worry, I’ll collect on that someday,” Chadwick said as the front door of the pub drifted shut behind my factotum and the wobbly policeman. “So, what went down there?” He jerked his red head at the door. “Faffing around with the memories of the police now, are we?”

“Thanks for playing along.” I stacked the shot glasses on the sticky tray.

“Right, okay, that’s how it is. You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

“Tell Tosh it’s her turn to stop for the baked goods.” I walked out to see morning was just touching the sky in the distant horizon. A yellow cab was pulling away from the curb. I strolled up to stand beside Ianto on the sidewalk.

“I feel like the lining of my mother’s birdcage,” Ianto informed me.

“You _do_ have a way with words.”

“It’s always been a secret wish of mine to pen a novel.”

We began walking, the light mist enjoyable on my face. It would take a rough scrub brush to get Ianto and I clean. “Your diary entries are always enjoyable.”

“I’m so glad you get pleasure from them.”

“I get pleasure from a lot of things that you do.”

“Also good to know.” We paused at the corner to allow an early morning newspaper delivery truck to trundle past. “I’m so depleted I can’t even put any real vinegar into being sassy.”

“I’d like to take you home, wash you off, and then make love to you until we have to go to work.”

He yawned, dug into his pocket, and extracted his pocket watch. With a flick the lid popped open. Condensed fog dripped off the streetlight overhead.

“Which will be in three hours.” He closed his watch then looked at me. “Totally doable if we stop flaffing about out here in the fog.”

We made our way to his flat. It felt like we should be talking or touching more but the walk was made in silence. As was the time spent divesting ourselves of our clothes and dragging our weary asses into the shower. The hot water felt magnificent as did his warm body pressed into mine. I held him from behind, one arm around his chest and the other vined around his waist. Powerful hot jets of water beat down on my back. Again, the feeling that I should be doing something or saying something overtook me, but I had no clue what to say or do.

“I think this may be a first,” I confessed. He reached up to hold my forearm as it rested against his pectorals. “I have you wet and naked and pressed up against me and sex isn’t what’s on my mind.” I bit back the comment that was poised to follow which would have went… ‘See what happens when you tell a man you love him? Your sex life withers and dies instantly. Badumptiss.’And they say you can’t teach old Captain’s new tricks.

“Mine either,” Ianto admitted slowly. I could feel the mental exhaustion on each word.

“Do you know what I dream of?” I tightened my hold a smidge. He shook his wet head. We should be showering, as in _actually_ washing off the gunk dried on our skin like cement, but we just stood there in the steam, water running off us, talking and touching. We had to go to work in a couple of hours yet we dawdled here. Maybe we needed this more than sex or sleep. Or maybe we didn’t want to pretend not to hear the ghostly snuffles of bulldogs or the light laugh of a son that never was echoing around his flat. “I dream of growing old with you.” He mumbled something as his fingers bit into my forearm. “Yep, that’s one of my dreams. Sitting alongside a loch somewhere, both of us wrinkled like Shar Pei’s, silver-haired and crotchety.” Ianto snorted in amusement. “Horribly crotchety we are and arguing about which lure works best to catch lake trout.”

“Sounds like a subplot for ‘Grumpy Old Men’,” he commented dryly. “Are you lusting after Ann Margaret?”

“Who doesn’t lust after Ann Margaret?” I kissed his shoulder.

“True.” He turned his head just enough to be able to rub his nose over my stubbly cheek. “As odd as this sounds I’d love to see us grow old and feeble. ‘Us’ being the key word in that statement.”

“Mm, well we do in my dreams. You bitch about the price of writing supplies and I complain about the arthritis in my knees.”

“Probably brought on by how much time you spent on them.”

I snickered against the damp skin of his neck. “Ouch.”

I felt him chortle then the silence surrounding us returned for a moment. “Will you take me to bed and just hold me until we have to go to work?”

“Of course. I’ll hold you whenever you need to be held.”

“Did that sound overly needy?”

“Not really.”

“Perhaps we should have a code word for when we’re feeling vulnerable or the ground trembles a bit under us. Then the other will know his partner needs a hug or a whispered word?”

“I like that idea.” The water was growing cool now. As much as I hated the thought we were going to have to exit the shower soon. “You come up with a code word and we’ll implement it with all due haste. We need to get moving. The water heater is giving up the ghost.”

“Miserable thing.” I released him and he turned to look at me. “Hollyhocks.”

His choice of code word rocked me momentarily. It was truly the perfect word. “I love you,” I whispered then kissed his soft mouth with gentle hunger. He responded in kind, his hands flattening over my ribs.

I would never see those beautiful, tall, spiky flowers or Ianto Jones in the same way ever again…

 

 

**The End**

***sniffles and dabs at tears* Next up we’re going to have another “Day in the Life” one-shot. After that will be “The Ones Who Fall Through”.**

**Yours in fiction—**

**Feral**

 

 


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